I Know What You Need
by destyshell
Summary: After discovering Spike in the basement of the high school, Buffy is determined to relieve the tortures of the tormented vampire. Mild M rating, bloodplay warning. One-shot


I Know What You Need

**Mature rating (mild), blood warning**

**I own diddly squat.**

**Set after S7E1 "Lessons." To recap: Spike has returned from Africa after winning his soul, but is suffering from guilt-ridden self-torture in the SHS basement. He is also tormented by the First as they morphed into several characters, including some of the past big bads. **

**In this fic Buffy has done some soul-searching over the summer, so it is a little OOC where she is concerned. This story diverges from the end of "Lessons." Excuse any small manipulations of the timeline.**

xxx

Buffy trudged through the darkness of a moonless Sunnydale night, sturdy canvass bag in hand. Dressed in black yoga pants and red jersey button-up top, the slayer softly scoffed as she approached the nearly deserted building.

Lessons.

Mangled French and disastrous science experiments can't help but flash across her brain. Her best friends—the nerdy red-head with her overalls and rainbow poncho…nervous and optimistic and oh so excited when she learned to float a pencil; the bumbling brunet with the puppy-dog gaze, crushing on the girl he could not have while ignoring the one who wanted him.

If Buffy could go back…warn the three teenagers and the Watcher just how complicated life would become…how black and white, good and evil, wrong and right would grow fuzzy, the edges becoming so ill-defined that, all these years later, it was harder and harder to know exactly where you stood. And even more than that, knowing where you stood became less and less something to worry about in the grand scheme of things.

Tara was dead. Willow was gone, having nearly destroyed the world in revenge. She and Giles were now in England, hoping the coven there could help the witch reign in the dark forces that had consumed her.

Xander had left the one woman in the world who thought he was a sex god as she stood at the altar, preparing to marry the idiotic man-child. Anya was her back to her vengeful self after said betrayal, wreaking comeuppance in her wake.

Buffy couldn't say that she had fared any better in the previous months. She had channeled all her despair, all her loneliness, all her detachment that she hid from her friends and forced one person (she shook her head at how often she denied him the title) to feel as low and dejected as she did.

Spike.

She knew that he loved her, no matter how often she'd denied it. (She'd taken a nice, long trip on that river in Egypt.) It was difficult to admit how she used and abused him last year, rejecting the vampire over and again, even though she would wind up back at his crypt, riding him till she could finally feel…or finally forget…whichever was necessary at the time.

He would work so hard—trying to tap some deeply guarded well of emotion that, once released, would allow Buffy to give him even a small taste of her love and affection. But, of course, she pushed him away before he found that elusive fount. No, Buffy's guilt and jealousy reared its ugly head when newlywed Riley swooped back into town, his fatigue-wearing wife, Samantha, in tow.

Trekking ever closer to the newly-remodeled schoolhouse (minus one bathroom floor which Xander would again need to replace), Buffy wondered why she ever listened to the hammer-wielding wanna-be who'd suggested that Riley was her last chance at happiness. Looking back, she realized that living vicariously through 'soldier boy' was more palatable for Xander than Buffy 'getting groiny with the undead' as he would have so delicately put it.

Buffy sighed again for the massive error in judgment that was telling Xander Harris what had happened between herself and Spike in the bathroom on that fateful night last May. In the string of empty nights since and the hours alone that left themselves open to memory and perspective, Buffy knew that she had behaved no better that previous year—their coupling often fraught with violence and rejection. Even when Warren had rendered her invisible, had not Spike blatantly refused her advances to which Buffy's unseen hand only responded with unzipping Spike's jeans? Buffy had to bite back the smile that threatened, remembering the ridiculous ruse of naked exercise when Xander barged his way into Spike's crypt.

Xander had even managed to poison Dawn against Spike, spilling the details of Buffy's last night with the tormented vampire, destroying all the good memories the teenager had of her beloved protector. Buffy couldn't commiserate with her sister over Spike's sudden departure, knowing she'd be unable to explain the intricacies of their secret affair—the passion, the violence, the rejections and recriminations. So Buffy kept to herself the 'Spike missage' she began to feel during that long, lonely summer.

She really was a 'daft bint' sometimes. Ha-she knew Spike would gloat over that—if he ever got off the crazy train, that is. The Slayer's heart had nearly broken today—seeing her former lover so battered and lost, such a shell of the Big Bad she'd met that night outside The Bronze years ago. Then, when she realized that he'd chosen to regain his soul, and was now suffering the agonies that accompanied it, Buffy knew that drastic measures were necessary if Spike could once again join her in the fight…and in her bed.

So after a day of vengeful, ghostly zombie slayage (and thoroughly embarrassing her little sister—but, hey, that was just a bonus), Buffy baked a couple dozen cookies (Willow's absence finally forcing her to read the directions on the roll of cookie dough), changed her clothes and brushed out the awful mom-hair that had instantly aged her that day.

She made the excuse to her sister that the cookies were intended for a PTA event; hence the hand-spatting with the spatula when the brunette tried to nick more than her allotted two. Dawn then departed in a frustrated huff, declaring that she was going to put in her earphones and work on her dreaded homework, the day's ghost-zombie attack now out of mind.

Buffy popped a multi-vitamin, packed up the cookies, a couple bottles of juice, some salvaged jeans and a black tee, and finally, the gently folded long, black duster into the bag before zipping it up and heading out into the night.

Xxx

Buffy jerked loose the locked door, planning to have Xander repair it before someone noticed, and made her way down to the subterranean level of the remodeled school, once again, brilliantly centered on top of a Hellmouth.

Luckily, no zombies sought to impede her progress that night-Buffy gratefully able to make her way to the heavy basement door without interruption.

"Spike?" Buffy called into the darkness.

She heard a strangled gasp and frightened scurrying come from a dark corner.

"Ahhh!" echoed sharply around the cinder block walls, making Buffy recoil with a start. "I'm trying!" a familiar voice pleaded, "Not quick, not fast, chalk all ran, sure to be caned," Spike repeated from their earlier encounter.

"Shhh…Spike, no one's going to hurt you. It's me, Buffy. I'm just here to help you."

"No, no! Not…not Buffy! Not…Dru!" Spike's agitation rose at Buffy's sudden appearance, certain that the First had returned to persecute him again. "Wasn't Warren…. Glorificus….was Ben…Watcher killed Ben," As Buffy's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see Spike raking his hands through his darkened roots.

"Adam…you're gone…. Wilkins…big snake, they said…blown up, I think," Spike was trying to recount the events of the last few years, it seemed—some he was present for, some he'd only heard about later. The First had embodied several guises earlier that day, berating Spike and prophesying doom.

Like recognizing the inconsistencies of a dream, Spike ran through the list of players, trying to remind himself of those who were no longer alive to truly torment him, "Master's gone…Buffy killed him…."

In the thin strips of intruding light, Buffy could see that the crazed vampire had completely shredded his remaining clothes following the day's traumas, his taut, pale body pacing as his hands clasped at his arms, trying to hide from the tortured soul inside.

Buffy sat the bag down, carefully approaching her suffering former lover. She knew her evening's plans were foolish ones—she knew the dangers of a feral vampire who had lost control. She had even lied to Dawn about her destination, so no one knew she'd come to help restore the vampire whom she had driven to search for his soul.

"Back to the beginning…not right…not wrong…power…power…power," Spike repeated the mantra The First had tried instill in him earlier that day.

"Power?" Buffy questioned, knowing that surely another apocalypse was in the works, but she'd hoped that it would hold off for a few months, at least. "I don't understand."

"Everything is... I had a speech, I learned it all... oh God, she won't understand... she won't understand..."

"Just tell me, Spike," Buffy said softly as if trying to coax a frightened animal from hiding. "I'll try to understand. We can figure it out," Buffy took his hand gently, Spike recoiling from her touch as if he'd been burned.

"Don't hurt the girl!" he panicked, his eyes searching for escape before realizing the futility of running from oneself. "Schmuck, schmuck, schmuck," his fist trying to beat the memory out of his own head, taunting himself with the master's estimation of his great-great grandson.

"Don't…don't do that, Spike," Buffy gently chided, trying to still Spike's self-chastisement. She gently massaged his fist to open flat, placing his palm against her cheek. "You didn't hurt me, Spike. See, I'm fine," her hand covered his, placing a soft kiss to his weathered skin before guiding his fingers down her neck, hoping that her steady pulse would convince the mad vampire of her good health and well-being.

It was a risky move, she knew, enticing a crazed vampire with the reminder of blood coursing through her veins, but she was desperate to find a way to lure her vampire back from the brink of insanity.

Spike's face contracted as he tried to reconcile the memory of Buffy with whatever had joined him in his self-made basement prison. Buffy cursed herself for having withheld so much tenderness from the vampire that he couldn't seem to recognize her kindness as genuine. His hands dropped down to the red knit collar as confusion clouded his features even further.

He rubbed the unfamiliar cloth in his fingers, searching in his memory for a time when she had worn that particular outfit but came up with nothing.

"Not Buffy…not her…not her…," he withdrew in panic, retreating once again.

Buffy sighed. She bought the outfit that afternoon, thinking the colors would please. She regretted not trying to do little things like that to please him in the past, as it made her unrecognizable to him now.

"Shh, shh, Spike." Buffy's fingers went to the little red buttons on her new top, slipping the tiny discs through their corresponding holes. She kicked off her shoes and shimmed out of her yoga pants, stripping down to just her bra and panties. She knew Spike had seen them the previous year although she was surprised that they survived without being shredded.

The tortured vamp turned to the wall, shutting his eyes tightly against the expanse of golden skin that enticed him so.

Buffy was never a quitter, so she pursued Spike in his retreat, encouraging him to turn around and believe she stood there before him. The image of Faith in her borrowed body flitted through her mind, Spike being one of the two who recognized the imposter for who she was. Hell, Riley had even slept with the interloper and not realized he was with the wrong girl, so surely Buffy could convince the newly-souled vamp of her identity and willingness to help.

"Please, Spike, I need you to turn around. I need to help you get better."

Spike's head turned sharply, as an animal scenting the wind. His nostrils flared as he filled them with Buffy smell, trying to remember if the Buffy that taunted him earlier had mimicked her scent.

Buffy's warm, insistent hands turned his shoulders to face her, her eyes scanning over the deep gouges he'd clawed into his skin—the pain of the soul driving him to madness.

"My God, Spike," her fingers traced over the pinkened skin, some jagged lines having healed while others were fresh with what little blood remained in the vampire's body.

From that well of longing that had eluded Spike's search in the preceding year, the vampire's pain spoke to Buffy, knowing that his love for her drove him to commit these acts of self-hatred. And as much as her guilt and self-consciousness railed against it, Buffy knew that it would take as much love and generosity to bring him back.

Buffy tried to find an uninjured patch of skin on his chest that her hands would not hurt. She moved in closer to his unclothed body, trying to relieve some of the pain she'd caused in the past.

"You must promise never to do this again," she chided softly, her lips meeting the torn skin with soft kisses, tasting the copper on his skin. She briefly wished for vampire powers, their tongues expert at sealing open wounds. "Don't want you to hurt," she pleaded, kissing a jagged gash where his still heart lived. "Mine," she whispered over his heart, her tongue licking the red stain from her lips.

"Yours," Spike managed to choke out before the voices of The First coupled with the burden of his guilty soul forced him to his knees. But the weight of shame and overbearing evil would not turn loose of the slayer's lover so easily. Spike crumpled underneath the dueling tortures.

"Beneath you…beneath you…monster…not a man," he muttered as he curled onto his side drawing his knees up on the cold, cement floor.

Buffy's hurtful words returned to haunt her as she joined him on the floor, sliding underneath, so his head lay in the cradle of his lap.

Spike's sobs only seemed to grow in intensity as Buffy raked through disheveled curls with one hand while stroking his trembling arms and torso. Spike was so far gone, Buffy knew that animal blood would only provide basic sustenance, expired blood from the hospital would only be marginally better.

"Shh…," Buffy soothed, "Spike, you need to eat something," she tempted, knowing she would meet resistance.

He shook his head even as it rested in her lap. "No…can't…don't deserve it."

"I need you to get your strength back, Spike. You need to be strong, please."

"Make you hurt," he sobbed, believing that a strong Spike couldn't help but harm his Slayer.

"No you won't," Buffy cooed, knowing that she had little choice. She _needed_ Spike whole again. But more than that, she _wanted _him whole again as well. Sure, he had helped the Scoobies fight the good fight for the past few years, but one thing that Buffy had realized during all those lonely nights this summer was how much she wanted him there—in her life…in her bed…in her heart.

Praying that what she was about to do wasn't fatally foolish, Buffy popped the clasp on the black bra that she wore, drawing Spike's attention as the elastic snapped and she pulled the garment away.

Spike stared for a moment at the twin golden mounds, then curled up further in shame to hide his body's reaction.

Buffy new damn well that in Spike's current state, he would be unwilling to bite her neck or even her wrist, for that matter, but she hoped that she could call on something so basic, so primal, he could not resist but to feed.

She had snagged a nail earlier that evening as she went patrolling, saving the employment of a knife which she feared Spike might try to commandeer in his own self-destruction. She reached for the extra juice in the bag and also brought out the box of cookies she'd earlier made.

"For after dinner," she smiled, a flitter of recognition crossed Spike's face as he recalled their brief engagement years ago and the cookie withheld at the time.

Buffy sucked in a tiny breath as she made a small cut in the rosy skin of her left nipple, a small globe of blood appearing at the tip.

Spike's eyes went wide in panic as he tensed to flee, though Buffy quickly soothed him with her words and her hands. Her left arm tenderly cradled his head as her right hand took her breast, tracing Spike's full lips with the Slayer blood that trickled from her peak.

His lips instinctively curled inward to bring the liquid to his tongue. The drop of slayer blood buzzed on his tongue and gave the vampire a sliver of hope in his despair.

"Mine?" he asked softly, his voice uncharacteristically small and uncertain.

"Yes…yours," Buffy assured as she squeezed the mound again, bringing forth another drop.

"William, you need to eat. I promise—you can't hurt me," she assured, knowing the small wound on her nipple would not gush with blood, but would rather run a small, steady trickle.

His tongue darted out to catch the next clinging drop, though his face contracted in worry as he drew his legs up closer to hide.

"Relax, it's ok. There's no need to feel ashamed." With her right hand Buffy massaged the tense hip, coaxing his legs to stretch and relax. She knew he feared growing hard in her presence and maybe even coming at the rush of Slayer blood. She blushed a little as the soothing strokes to Spike's flank slipped, brushing his cock by accident.

"Whoops, I forgot, dinner first, dessert later," she teased, hoping to see a hint of the brash master vampire. She was rewarded with a flash of awareness in the blue eyes that stared at her. Still, the weakened vampire's gaze was drawn back to the drop of sweet blood-his face revealed the fear that this was a cruel trick, that this bounty would be snatched from his grasp in the last seconds.

Buffy gave Spike a sad, soft smile as she gently tightened her hold, bringing him tantalizingly closer to the source of life that he required.

"I know what you need," Buffy whispered, placing her breast to his lips and stroking his cheek.

Hesitant blue held a determined hazel, until Spike finally closed his eyes as his lips latched round the nipple, taking a long pull. Buffy smiled as she stroked his cheek, gratified that the heated elixir seemed to help calm the vampire's tortured soul and psyche. The furrows of Spike's brow smoothed while Buffy's fingers stroked through darkened curls, and Buffy swore that she could hear him begin to purr.

Her fingers traced over a gouge in his chest as she watched the flesh knit back together, the familiar pale limbs relaxing more with each drink that he accepted from her warm and willing body. Buffy smiled as she felt a cool arm wrap around her waist and gentle fingers stroking at her back, a deep warmth suffusing through Buffy as Spike suckled the stream of sweet, potent, healing Slayer blood.


End file.
